Darkness and Light
by sweetsadsilence
Summary: Mercy Donovan is no stranger to Death. All her life, she has struggled with a peculiar type of clairvoyant ability, one that manifests through her nightmares. When tragedy strikes, and her 'gift' becomes stronger and harder to control, she only has one chance- at Hogwarts. But for how long can she hide her dark secrets?
1. Prologue

"_It was not Death for I stood up,  
And all the Dead, lie down_—_"_

_Emily Dickinson_

. . ._  
_

_"Master, I cannot hold him — my hands — my hands!"_

An agonized, drawn out scream echoed within the cavernous room. The air tasted of smoke, acrid and heavy in her lungs. Terrible, blistering pain seared through her skin, it was as though her flesh itself was on fire. She was burning, she was _burning_, and—

The girl awoke from her dream with a start, her pale hair a tangled mess. Instantly, she curled onto her side in bed and covered her ears with her hands in attempt to block out the sound of screaming and pleading that reverberated in her head. For several seconds, she whimpered as the phantom, stinging pain spread through her entire body. Then it stopped. She took a shallow, panicked breath in. The air no longer tasted polluted, and her lungs did not protest. Very slowly, she sat up in bed and drew back the covers. Heart pounding in her chest, she pulled back her sleeves, expecting to see blisters. Nothing. She stared at her hands, turning them over and inspecting her palms with confusion. They were fine, her pale skin unblemished. It was not death. No, it was just another one of her dreams.

More accurately speaking, it was a nightmare. The girl could not remember the last time she had gone to sleep and not had a nightmare, nor could she recall having ever slept without dreaming. These were not ordinary nightmares like normal children had; but then again, Mercy Donovan was not an ordinary child.

Quietly, she slid out of bed and headed for the hallway. Mum and da would want to hear about this dream. Her footsteps made no sound as she crept across the hall, the edge of her nightdress dragging along the wooden floor. It was too long, most of her dresses were because she was built so very small, but her mother hadn't gotten around to hemming this one yet. Abruptly, she stopped outside the door to her parents' room. They were talking, their muffled voices barely audible. Leaning in closer, she fidgeted nervously, afraid that her parents would be angry that she was awake again. After a minute of anxious waiting, she knocked on the door with her delicate fist. The voices behind the door stopped. "Mum?" She called out, her voice wavering slightly in the newfound silence. "Da?"

The door to the room opened and her father stood in the doorway. William Donovan was a respected man, having served as an Auror for many years. He carried himself with an air of dignity that reflected his pure-blooded background, although his mindset was not that of a zealot. "What's wrong, Mercy?" There was a hint of annoyance to his voice, but she did not pick up on it.

"I had another dream," she whispered back with wide, grey eyes. The look in her eyes was what her mother would call heartbreaking, for it was far too serious for such a little girl.

"C'mon, let's go sit by mummy," her father murmured. He put his hand carefully on Mercy's back and led his daughter towards the bed, where he motioned for her to sit down on top of the blankets. Once seated, Mercy leaned into her mother's outstretched arms. Her mother, Charlotte, was a soft-spoken woman who always seemed to be deep in thought. The only witch in her family, she had been reluctant to leave her Muggle sister behind and attend Hogwarts. Quiet regret weighed her down like an anchor, pulling her a little deeper whenever she held her daughter.

"He was crying about his hands," Mercy whispered, her voice muffled by the embrace. It was almost like a ritual by now, the cycle of waking up and being comforted as she recited the events the she dreamt.

"Who was crying?" Charlotte asked, absently stroking her daughter's hair while casting a concerned look at her husband.

"A man," the girl said tiredly, "He—"

"Do we know this man?" There was a sense of urgency to her father's voice that she didn't understand. "Have you met him?"

Mercy shook her head. "I don't know his name."

"That's alright, darling," her mother prompted in an unwavering, patient tone. "Just tell us what you remember."

"He was burning," she whispered. "The Master kept yelling, 'Seize him!' and he kept saying that he can't and—"

"What master?" Her father interrupted suddenly, gripping his daughter by the shoulders to look at him. "Mercy, do you know who the master is?"

Mercy's lips trembled slightly as she struggled not to cry. "I don't know," she whispered. "M'sorry, daddy."

"Mercy, you have to—"

"Will!" Charlotte interrupted in a warning tone with a sharp glare. _We will discuss this later_, she mouthed before she pulled Mercy into another embrace. "It's alright, dear," her mother soothed. "Remember what I told you? You didn't make anything bad happen." She gently kissed her daughter on the forehead. "You're different, and it makes you dream things happening, okay?" Taking her by the hand, Charlotte helped her off the bed. "Let's get you back to sleep now."

Once she had tucked Mercy safely in bed, she returned, shutting the bedroom door gently. She pulled a small, battered notebook from the nightstand and began to record her daughter's nightmare. The worn pages of the book were covered in her neat handwriting, every page holding another morbid dream. Certain pages were marked in red ink, with names and dates added in. Those were the ones that they knew for certain had come true. It served as an ever present reminder that Mercy Donovan was not, and never would be, an ordinary child.

Ordinary children lacked Mercy's particular affinity for Death.

"She cannot be around other children." The words her husband spoke had such a final sense of conviction to them.

Charlotte knew it to be true. "How can we tell her that she can't go to school?" she replied softly, her voice tight. "It'll break her heart."

"There is no way she would be able handle it. It'd make her ill, being around so many other people." Something in his tone suggested that he did not want to discuss the matter. "Don't you realize what will happen? It is too dangerous."

"Maybe…" she murmured in response. "Maybe she'll be able to control it by then. Maybe it'll have gone away." She didn't even believe herself. "There is still time- a year, at least- things could get better."

"And what happens what they don't?" Her husband challenged, his voice having grown uncharacteristically harsh.

The question hung in the air, answered only by silence.

When Charlotte next spoke, her voice sounded so impossibly small and defeated. "How can you think like that?" It was barely above a whisper. "Mercy is our only daughter, we must always have hope for her."

"No, Charlotte," he said sharply. "There is no hope, not with this curse! What does it make her, a death omen? What kind of little girl—"

"Our kind of little girl, Will!" Her mother's voice was insulted, indignant at the way he spoke of Mercy, as if she were not his daughter as well. "She is only a child, our child! She doesn't understand what happens, or why it happens to her! We barely understand it!"

"I understand perfectly," he said coldly, almost threateningly. "You watched this… this _gift _kill your sister," his tone dripped with foreboding. "And now it's killing our daughter."


	2. Death Hath Undone

"_Si lunga tratta / Di gente, ch'io non avrei mai creduto / Che morte tanta n'avesse disfatta."  
_"_So long a train / of people, that I should not have believed / that death had undone so many."_

_Dante Alighieri. The Inferno, Canto III, verses 55-57_  
_Translated from Italian._

. . .

A thin, pale girl pushed her way through the crowd and quickly advanced towards the Gryffindor table. She was of slight build, with anxious, grey eyes and silvery blonde hair that partially hid her face. Despite her efforts to avoid being noticed, a flurry of whispers echoed throughout the hall as she passed. No one paid any heed to the sudden shift toward panic in her expression as a tall boy with brown hair brushed past her.

_She was running through a maze, green hedges surrounding her. A nervous yet excited feeling bubbled up in her chest. Something glimmered in the distance. Her heart soared as she reached out —_

The phantom feeling passed as quickly as it had overtaken her. She let out the breath she had been holding in a low hiss. _You'll be alright,_ she told herself. _Just breathe. Don't go making a scene on your first day_. She took a tiny bit of completely wretched solace in the knowledge that the boy, whoever he was, would at least being going out in a blaze of glory.

As soon as she reached the table, she slid into an empty seat across from a boy who seemed to be intently searching the crowd for someone. Her hands twitched nervously, so she folded them tightly in her lap. Some nearby students openly stared, while others tried to hide their whispers behind cupped hands. Determined to ignore them, she tucked several stands of her fair hair behind her ear and turned her attention to the staff table as the sorting began. The girl barely noticed as a boy and a girl slipped into the empty seats across from her.

Finally, the voice of the headmaster silenced everyone as he began his welcome speech. A chill ran down her spine when he mentioned the presence of the Dementors, for cheerful memories and thoughts were not exactly in abundance. As Albus Dumbledore proceeded to introduce the two newest teachers, one to replace the retiring Care of Magical Creatures instructor, and one to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts; the girl could not help but to briefly wonder what exactly had happened to the previous teachers. Her mind had wandered, entertaining several ideas that varied in degree of morbidity, and she was only half-listening when Dumbledore said, "And last, but most certainly not least, we wish to welcome Miss Mercy Donovan to the Gryffindor House." He gestured out towards where she sat. She stood, shaking somewhat as she felt hundreds of eyes settle on to her. "She is joining our third year students for this year. I trust that you all will make her feel quite welcome." He smiled warmly at her as the students clapped. "Well, I think that's everything of importance. Let the feast begin!" he finished, taking his seat at the head table.

"There's someone new in our year?" A red haired boy seated on the opposite side of the table exclaimed. "Why, who is she?"

"Honestly Ron!" The girl whispered hastily from his left, "She's right over there," she jerked her head towards where Mercy sat on the across the table. Lowering her voice, she added, "Don't you read the Prophet? That's Mercy Donovan," she leaned in closer to the boy, "Death Eaters murdered her parents last spring."

Mercy was mildly amused by their (failed) attempt in holding a clandestine conversation when it was obviously illogical to believe that she would not overhear. She took advantage of the moment to clear her throat as the brown haired girl paused. "Your source would be correct," Mercy said with the lilt of an Irish accent. Her voice was soft, almost hoarse, as if she was unaccustomed to speaking. "Of course, I'd advise you to just ask me next time."

Ron turned as red as his hair. Hermione spoke first, "Oh…I'm sorry about…what happened," she said awkwardly. Mercy wondered what she was apologizing for, their less-than-discrete gossiping, or her parents' murder. Both, she supposed, although it did not make very much of a difference in either case. "I'm Hermione Granger," then she gestured to the boy who had been loudly whispering earlier, "That's Ron Weasley, and," Hermione pointed to the dark haired boy that Mercy hadn't even noticed prior to the introductions. "That's Harry Potter." She extended her hand.

For a moment, Mercy hesitated. She bit down on her lip and took Hermione's outstretched hand. The minute their hands touched, an unbearable tightness filled her chest.

_The office room was dark and cluttered. Her heart was racing, she was breathing fast. A heavy wooden door flew open, abruptly cutting off a female voice. People were shouting. A flash of purple light and —_

Mercy nearly gasped in relief as Hermione released her hand, grateful that the vision had been interrupted before it could continue. She then made the mistake of turning toward Ron to offer her hand, and as she did so, the sleeve of her robe shifted to accidently expose a long scar that ran the length of her forearm. His eyes widened in shock, and he made no effort to return the proposed gesture. Quickly dropping her hands to her lap, Mercy met his stare with steeled, dark eyes. "I don't see you staring at Potter like that," she said coldly, all traces of kindness gone from her voice.

A fleeting expression of surprise crossed of each of their faces in unison. Ron opened his mouth to respond, but Mercy shook her head. "Don't bother apologizing," she said dismissively. Her voice was gentle once again, but the closed-off look on her face betrayed how much it bothered her. "Just don't do it again."

Harry cast a sideways glance at the new girl, taking in her appearance. Her robes hung loosely to her frame, giving her a silhouette that was almost sickly. It would not have been a stretch to believe that it had been a long time since she had gotten a proper night's sleep. The solemn look reflected in her grey eyes was too intense for someone of only thirteen years, making her seem as if she was forced to endure the weight of some unspeakable burden. Although perhaps, when considering the two smooth scars ran parallel over her right cheek in stark contrast against her pale skin, the assumption would not have been farfetched at all.

Mercy settled into silence while the rest of the Great Hall filled with joyful voices and clattering utensils as the students delved into their feast. She found it to be intriguing, in a twisted sort of way, to observe everyone around her as an outsider, with such limited knowledge of their futures. Being surrounded by so many people meant being surrounded by many independent souls, each calling out their tragic demise in a desperate plea for her attention. Of course, without direct contact, she could not determine which voice belonged to whom. To her senses, they all clashed quite spectacularly as one massive, broken chord. It was as though she had been dropped into the centre of Gordian's Knot, with so many strings overlapping that it was impossible to make sense of a single one. The cacophony was something that she had not yet grown used to, since her release from hospital. It made her head ache and left her feeling quite drained.

It was not long, before the Gryffindors attempted to engage her in conversation, Hermione trying most valiantly. To be entirely honest, Mercy would have rather remained invisible, for having less contact was only for the best, but a part of her warmed at their hospitality.

After what seemed like an eternity, Dumbledore spoke once again. "It is now time for our feast to come to an end. Unless arrangements have been made otherwise," he paused and Mercy got the uncanny feeling that she was being stared at. "I ask that you all follow the Prefects to your dormitories." At this, a general din rose about the Great Hall as the students rose out of their seats.

Hermione looked over at Mercy, "Do you want to go up with us?" she asked. "I assume you're going to share the room with me- and a few other girls, of course. I can show you."

The corners of Mercy's lips turned up into a small, crooked smile. "Actually, I have something I need to take care of first. You know, about the rules and my schedule and such," she flicked her gaze up at the staff table before returning it to Hermione. "But I'd really appreciate it if you could show me around sometime," she finished softly. Hermione beamed.

"We'll see you tonight then, I guess." Hermione said happily, standing up. Ron and Harry stood also. "Yeah, see you later Mercy." Ron said, still sounding sheepish.

As they walked out, Mercy returned her gaze to the staff table. The professors were still talking amicably with each other, with the exception of a dour faced man in dark robes, and she took a moment to mentally remind herself who to avoid. One of the witches caught her gaze, offering a small nod and an encouraging smile. Judging from her dress, she was likely to be the hospital matron that Professor McGonagall had instructed her to report to directly after the feast. Taking the nod as a sign of acknowledgment, Mercy slowly stood up then to head out to wait for her in the Entrance Hall.

The air crackled with emotion and her skin prickled with phantom feelings. Someone bumped into her, and their hand momentarily closed around her wrist. She suddenly felt suffocated by the awful sense of foreboding that preceded another unwanted series of insight. "Sorry," a distant voice said, but Mercy wasn't paying attention. Dozens of foreign emotions rushed to her all at once as the pull of another time and place grew stronger. Gripping the edge of the table to keep from falling over, she shut her eyes and took several deep breaths in a desperate attempt to make the vision go away.

"Are you alright?" two ginger haired boys asked simultaneously. Mercy recognized them instantly as Ron's brothers, the twins.

The sound of their voices helped to anchor her back, albeit somewhat unsteadily, into the present. Mercy took in a shuddering breath as the vision cleared, blinking her eyes in a rather dazed manner. A few seconds passed in awkward silence before the girl realized that she was expected to respond. "I'm fine," she said, cringing internally at how blatantly obvious her lie was. Lying. It was something she'd need to get better at. "I'm just a bit overwhelmed, being new here and all." That was the understatement of the century.

"We're Fred and George Weasley," the boy nearest to her said, pointing to himself and then to his brother. It was unclear whether or not they had believed her response, but neither one of them questioned her. "You've met our younger brother, Ron. Let us know if you need anything," they said, grinning at each other, "We know all the ins-and-outs around here_—_"

"Like all the passages_—_" interrupted George.

"And all the secrets," finished Fred with a wink.

"Brilliant," she murmured distractedly, casting one last look at the staff table. "I'll see you in the common room in a bit." She then excused herself and headed out into the Entrance Hall. The waif-like girl paused near the large stairwell to wait for the matron, and stood watching quietly as the crowd of students thinned out. She cast her grey eyes around nervously, anxious to get away from the stares and whispers that came as people passed her. There were way too many people, she thought. Too many souls and too many futures, her head was starting to spin. She was at _Hogwarts_, the one place she thought she would never, ever be able to go. Feeling dizzy and yet exhilarated at the same time, she relished the single, brief moment in which she felt free.

It was the pressure of a hand on her shoulder that startled her back to awareness. "My dear," a motherly voice said gently. The air took on the sudden, overwhelming scent of rosewater. "Mercy, is it? I'm sorry to keep you waiting, if you could follow me…"

. . .

**Author's Note: Thank you to those who left reviews, I received them via email, but I'm afraid that I haven't any idea how to make them appear. (I think there's someplace I'm supposed to approve them, but I cannot find where. I feel rather daft.) I'm sorry any aspect of the story seems a little confusing right now, but I promise that all will be made clear in due time. I'll shooting to update every week, I have somewhat of a schedule made out. Messages and reviews are loved. -sweetsadsilence  
**


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